Carry Me
by hook-come-back-to-me
Summary: AU: Killian Jones is Misthaven's finest blacksmith. But because of a personal tragedy, he's also a hermit. Until the Princess shows up at his door with the very sword her father had commissioned him to make. It's an encounter that leads him on a journey that he never expected.
1. Chapter 1

She's wearing a deep blue dress. Her black hair is tied in braids, and her lips are red as blood. She's saying something to him, but he can't understand what it is.

He reaches for her and she screams. "KILLIAN!"

He sits up with a jolt. His heart is racing and his palms are sweating. He had fallen asleep at his work bench again.

With a sigh he stokes the embers of the dying fire and he wipes beads of sweat from his brow. Would he never have relief from the nightmares? From her?

It didn't look that way.

It had been three damn years. But nothing helped.

Not alchol.

Not women.

Only the feel of metal and the heat of the fire on his face.

All his life he's loved the things he can make with his hands. And he's made many things. From swords, to iron bars for the dungeouns in the castle. Sure people said he was a hermit, but he didn't care. Because they all knew he was the best damn blacksmith in all of Arendelle.

When he knows the steel is hot enough he places it on his anvil. He swings downward with all his might and the iron relases a sharp high note as it yields beneath his hammer. The sound drives away her high pitched screams for a moment.

He works into the wee hours of the morning. Hammering, heating, and hammering some more. Finally, the work is finished.

The next day; the royal guard shows up. A dwarf with a hard face comes into his shop. He picks up the sword and studies it closely.

"It fits the description that the King gave me."

"I'll be the judge of that," a deep male voice says. Killian bows low as the King himself enters into his shop. Usually royalty just sent their lackeys to do their business.

"To what do I owe the honor, your highness?"

"This is to be a gift for my daughter for her twenty first birthday. I want to make sure that it's perfect."

"Of course," Killian answers as he bows again.

The King's eyes roam over the sword, analyzing every inch. "Yes, this is a lovely instrument. Emma will love it," he reaches into his robes and gives him a very full bag of golden coins. "The promised price."

"Thank you, Sir."

He bows again and the King dissapears out the door and Killian thinks that's the last of it.

But two days later there is a very distressed knock on his front door in the hours of wee morning.

"Who is there?" He groans as he stands from his cot.

"Open up this instant!" A female hisses.

"What do you want?"

"I want to speak to Killian Jones this instant!"

He opens the door. The maiden's face is hidden but she's holding the sword he made.

"How did you get that?"

She pulls back the hood and his stomach nearly falls out his ass. Because the Princess of Misthaven is standing in his doorway.

"Your majesty!" He exclaims. "Is there something wrong with the sword? I made it to your father's specifications..."

"That's exactly the problem!"

"Daddy issues?"

She glares at him. "Watch your mouth, blacksmith."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?"

"You can take the sword back."

"What?"

She shoves it towards him. "Take it back. I don't want it."

He blinks. "Really, Your Highness, I could make it to your specifications. I could change it."

"That's not the problem!"

"What is?"

She growls and throws the sword on the ground with a clang and his stomach clenches. Her eyes are flashing wildly.

"Hide that sword. And do not tell my father I was here."

She rushes out into the black night and he's left standing staring at the sword in confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

Carry Me

Summary: AU

Killian Jones is Misthaven's finest blacksmith. But because of a personal tragedy, he's also a hermit. Until the Princess shows up at his door with the very sword her father had commissioned him to make.

It's an encounter that leads him on a journey that he never expected.

Rated: PG-13

Word Count: 1868

catch up here

 _two_

It takes him a few moments to digest what has just happened.

He hurries around the shop trying to find a place to hide the incriminating sword. He opens the cellar door and tosses it down into the black hole. It hits the bottom with a loud clang and his stomach clenches. With a sigh he falls back into a chair and hangs his head between his knees.

Two days pass before one of his customers informs him of what has been happening.

"Killian! Did you hear that the King and Queen are throwing a ball?"

"No, I had not heard."

"They say it destined that she will find her true love there."

"You mean a Prince?"

"No! I mean her true love! But the princess wants nothing to do with it. I think the last Prince she was with, I think he did something to her. She's never been the same, poor thing."

"And her parents do not understand?"

"They are Prince Charming and Snow White. They are the very embodiment of true love. That sword you made for her was sort of a bribe if you will. Or at least that's what everyone's saying."

"I see," suddenly, he has a clearer picture of this mess he's found himself in.

This time he's ready when the King shows up.

"I'm sure you have know why I am here."

"You would like me to make a replacement."

"This time," the King hands him a piece of paper. "You will bring it to the ball and deliver it to Emma with me present."

"But, Sir."

"You don't understand-" he stops himself. "Just come with the sword."

"Of course."

He goes to the basement and retrieves the sword. He wasn't going to waste time remaking it when this one was perfectly fine. As the day of the ball approaches; a sense of uneasiness settles in his gut. And at some point he decides that he can not let this unfold.

He pulls out a piece of paper and begins to write.

One Month Later

The night of the ball; he bathes and fixes his hair. He even pulls out an old dress coat. With a sigh he brushes off the years of dust that have collected on it.

It's still as blue as ever.

Milah had picked it out for him to wear at the wedding. She said blue was a beautiful color on him.

He takes a quick nip of rum, fixes the coat one last time and steps out of the shop. People in the street turn their heads and stare at him. Their jaws dropping. .

"Mindy your own damn business," he hisses.

When he arrives at the gate of the palace; he's feeling very crabby.

There is already large crowd gathered, but he does not join them. He follows a dirt path around the side. He arrives at a plain brown door and knocks three times.

It swings open to reveal a woman with dark brown hair.

"Belle," he greets her with a hug. Belle had always brought him and his brother sweets. Homeless little boys she cared for like they were her own sons. She taught them to read, to write. She had also been the one to introduce him to Milah.

His gut wrenches tightly and he remembers why he hadn't been out in all these years.

"Killian! It's good to see you. Come in," she gestures to him and he follows her into the kitchen. There are people rushing all about and many smells permeate the air. Cakes, pies, mutton.

His mouth waters hungrily.

"Take the staircase up about three levels. Her Majesty's quarters are just beyond that. The King and Queen are occupied with preparations. You'll have about fifteen minutes before her maid comes to help her dress.

"You warned her that I was coming?"

"Yes, now go!"

He kisses her on the forehead and hurries up the steps. He follows her instructions exactly and finds himself outside a large green door.

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Come in," a familiar voice answers.

He pulls on the large door handle and the door swings open. He steps into a room that is larger then anything he's ever seen. His jaw drops open wide.

"Don't just stand there gaping like a fish. Come in," the princess encourages.

He does as he's told. He passes a rather large closet; a room with a tub, and bookshelf filled with books. He finally spots her sitting on a cushion near a lavish fireplace.

Her long golden hair hangs loosely down her front. Her cheeks are dusted with a light pink. His mouth feels strangely dry. She stands and smiles at him.

"You brought it," she gestures to the box in his hands.

"I did."

"You risked a lot coming here. When Belle told me of your plan, I didn't know what to think."

"I'm willing to risk it."

She blinks at him. "Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

The princess falls silent. Her eyes staring at the long box in her hand. Her eyes are deep and sad. As though she's carrying a heavy weight. He's about to ask if she's alright when she shoves the box back at him.

"What are you doing?" He exclaims in confusion.

"Take it back," she insists.

He scoffs."I risked my life so you could give the damn thing back to me? Is it cursed or something?"

"I'm sorry," and he can tell that she means it.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come to the ball."

"What about your father?"

"Let me handle that."

He bows low as he backs into the hallway. "As you wish."

"Take the passageway back to the kitchen before someone sees you!"

The large door closes with finality behind him and he hurries back down the stairway.

Belle is waiting expectantly at the foot of the stairs. Her face goes white when she sees the box.

"She didn't take it?"

"She spouted some cryptic nonsense then told me to proceed as the King instructed."

"Follow the path back to the gate. No one will see you."

"Thank you, Belle."

Once he arrives at the gate the guards search him and direct him into the main hall. The King and Queen are waiting for him. The look so beautiful it's almost frightening. The Queen's dark hair is decorated with white flowers and the King wears a crown of pure gold.

"I was getting worried," the King says.

"I got held up," he answers.

"I hope there was not a problem."

"None at all, Your Majesty."

"Good. Now I want you to hide that parcel until I tell you. Alright?"

Killian nods and the King slaps him on the back. "There's a good lad. Now go eat! Dance and be merry! It is my daughter's birthday after all."

He proceeds into the large ballroom. There is all kinds of royalty in glittering dresses and suits. Crowns and jewels everywhere. His fingers twitch nervously. He'd never been in the presence of this much wealth in his entire life.

In the corner is a table with meat, cakes, and pies. He takes a plate and begins stacking up food. The trumpets give a loud peal and the King and Queen appear on the steps of the ballroom.

"Welcome! One and all! We thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion! So, with no further ado, Princess Emma of Misthaven!"

She appears onto the steps.

Her white ballgown is covered in lace. On her head is an elaborate silver crown that sets off her golden hair which is now curled.

His jaw unwilling drops open.

The audience lets out a collective cheer. The princess laughs and holds up her hands. "Thank you one and all. Now let's not stand on ceremony any longer! Let's dance!"

As the hours pass Killian gets more tense. He is uncertain of the what the princess has planned. Perhaps she intended to betray him. Perhaps she intended to talk to her father. She did not give him any indication either way. In fact, she would not even look at him.

When the King steps onto the steps again; he knows that his moment has finally come.

"I have a special gift for our darling Emma!"

Killian begins to approach Emma who is standing at the foot of the stairs. Everyone is watching him as he kneels in front of her. The sword resting across his palms.

To his horror she just stands there and he forgets how to breathe. Finally, she reaches forward and takes it. "Thank you, father. I gladly accept this gift!"

The King grins and gestures for the people to go back to dancing. Emma hands the sword to a servant nearby who then heads up the stairs.

Killian turns to exit, but Emma grips his arm tightly.

"It is rude to deny your Princess a dance."

"E-excuse me?" He chokes out.

"I want you to dance with me."

"You do?"

She leads him to the dance floor. He hasn't done this since...

His heart tightens in his chest.

"Don't look so frightened. I don't bite," she teases.

"I'm not concerned about you, Your Majesty."

She laughs lightly as she places his hand on her waist. His brain is screaming in confusion as she takes his hand. Her skin is warm and soft. She moves even closer to him as the chords of a waltz fill the air and he begins to move.

Even though he has not danced in years; he still remembers all the steps.

"See! This isn't so bad, huh?"

"Be honest with me. What exactly is it that you want, Princess?"

She sighs. "Fine. Are you still up for helping me?"

"Of course," the words exit his mouth without his accordance.

"I want you to steal the sword tonight."

He laughs disdainfully. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

"I wanted to make sure that father saw me get it. You'll steal it and you'll be locked up. That'll be the end of it," she says with finality. But he is not satisfied.

"That's your plan?"

"Yes."

"That's the best you've got?" He growls.

She frowns and squeezes his hand tightly. "Let's see you come up with a better solution."

"I'd enjoy one where I don't end up tried for treason."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she retorts quickly.

"You do know that they could hang me for this?"

"They won't. I'll make sure of that."

He works up the courage to ask the question that's been bothering him. "Why don't you just talk to your father?"

"Do not talk of things you don't understand, blacksmith," she hisses through gritted teeth.

His cheeks heat and he nods. "Of course. Forgive me, your highness."

"Come to my room at midnight. The sword will be on the windowsill. I will take care of the rest."

The final chords of the waltz sound and he bows low. She curtsies and heads back the way she came. He takes the opportunity to hurry out of the room.

Once he's home, he collapses against the door. His hands run through his hair and he lets out a vehement.

" _Shit."_

-x-


	3. Chapter 3

Carry Me

His stomach churns as he stares up at the looming castle.

What was he DOING here? He should've just ran the hell out of there and left that girl to fend with her clearly insane father.

Perhaps the princess was right. Perhaps the smoke had finally done damage to his brain. In the past two days alone he'd been outside more then he had in three years.

This was all _her_ fault.

He couldn't say no to her. He tried to convince himself it was because she was royalty, but his gut told him that it was something else. Something a lot more frightening.

He bites his lip. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think of her any longer. He'd go take the sword, and that would be the end of it. He did not belong in the company of Princesses, and glittering jewels. He belonged here in the dark; with the fire and the screaming metals.

He sneaks out into the night and heads back towards the castle. It is not a long journey, but it feels as though it takes forever to arrive. He enters the kitchen where there are a bunch of ladies still scrubbing away on dishes.

She's standing still.

He's screaming at her.

"Milah! God! Please!"

She turns to him; still dressed in her shift. The cold winter air blows against his skin. "Killian," she whispers.

"MILAH!" He wakes up screaming.

The vision of her still fresh in his mind, his stomach churns and he leans over the side of his cot and expels his dinner. He wipes his mouth with a groan.

"Stupid princess," he hisses as he wipes up the vomit with a towel. "I didn't ask for this."

With that, he goes to the desk and begins to write his reply.

 _Princess,_

 _I'm afraid that I can not help you._

 _You can deal with your crazy parents._

 _-Killian Jones._

He gives the letter to Belle to give to Emma. Belle looks at him curiously.

"Bring this to the princess."

"Killian- are you sure?"

"I'm very sure."

-x-


End file.
